


Waiting To Smile

by vociferocity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cabin Fic, F/F, Ladies Loving Ladies, Snowed In, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vociferocity/pseuds/vociferocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes only your best friend can heal your broken heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting To Smile

**Author's Note:**

> written as a pinch hit for tumblr user jinxess for the teen wolf holiday exchange. thanks to clavicularity for giving it a look over :)

It’s Christmas break, almost, and for once Lydia isn’t being dragged off somewhere with her parents. Instead, her mother asks her if she’d like to spend some time with her friends in a holiday cabin deep in the woods. She says yes, of course. The only thing worse than having to spend a whole break with one or other of her parents is spending the break with both of them, watching them loudly fail to “reconnect”

Originally, her plan is to ask the whole pack along. Trade one attempt to connect for another, basically. In the wake of Gerard, and the Alpha Pack, and Jackson leaving…there are a lot of rough edges. Boyd is quieter than he’s ever been, and Erica louder, as though they’re trying to pretend they never left. Peter is as awful as he’s ever been, and Lydia refuses on principle to invite him, talk to him, or be near him in any way. Stiles has finally, thankfully, stopped making eyes at her, and Derek seems to be more appreciative than she ever was. Scott and Allison are as perfect as ever, except, of course, for when he can’t understand her conflicting loyalties, or when Isaac is sniffing around. Literally.

She misses Jackson. This awful, broken pack was easier to deal with when they could go for  overpriced coffees after each awkwardly silent pack meeting and critique everyone’s terrible fashion decisions.

But he’s gone now, and she refuses to be part of another family that doesn’t know how to communicate.

So: cabin in the woods. One week of close contact, possibly two if everyone can postpone family christmas parties. Something has to give, she’s sure of it. If a lifetime of terrible cinema has taught her anything, it has taught her that all a group of ragtag teens need to pull themselves into real friendship is a week together. Hopefully there’ll be some kind of terrible monster that they’ll have to battle together. Perhaps a troll?

This is her plan, and it is perfect. It will go off without a hitch, Lydia thinks to herself smugly, reapplying her lipgloss in her car mirror before class, because she is the one who planned it.

 

Four secounds into math class, and her plan is in shambles.

Allison is in tears. Or at least  _was_ , quite recently. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and it doesn’t look like she moisturised this morning. Lydia is a little annoyed; has she taught Allison nothing?

She sits next to her best friend, like always, and nudges Allison’s stockinged knee with her own. When she looks over, Lydia raises a single perfect brow. When Allison tries to give her the “I’m Fine! Really!” face, she raises the other, and watches Allison’s fragile smile crumple.

“It’s Scott,” Allison whispers to her, as their teacher reprimands some idiot boy on the other side of the room for not doing his homework. “He…” She trails off, but Lydia can see where this is going. She’s not stupid.

“How many pieces shall I send him to you in?” She whispers back.

Allison musters up a smile, but it’s pretty weak. “Lyds, I really think this is it,” she explains further.

“Nonsense! You’ll be back together before Christmas.”

Allison shrugs, smile fading. “He had… a lot of things to say about my family, and the  things I did when, you know.”

Lydia does know. She also knows how stubborn Scott McCall can be, once he has his mind set on something. She knows how little the rest of the pack like Allison. And she knows how little she wants to spend the break without her best friend. Almost before she’s finished having the idea, she’s decided on it.

“Allison,” Lydia says consideringly. “What are you doing for break?”

“Um -“

“Excellent,” she cuts in firmly. “I have a cabin with our names on it.”

This time, when Allison smiles at her, it stays.

 

So it turns out Allison did have plans with her father, but Mr Argent is more than happy to cancel them so that his daughter can spend time with one of her only human friends. Since the business with the rogue hunters, and the kidnapping, and the almost zombie uprising, he’s pretty much accepted her place in the pack, but it was always grudging acceptance at best.

Just because he’s letting them spend the fortnight in the cabin alone doesn’t mean he wants them running around the woods pretending like nothing bad could ever happen, he cautions, and loads Lydia’s car up with guns. She protests a little, because  that was valuable car space that she was saving for clothes, but then he hands her basically the prettiest pistol she’s ever seen, and leans in close.

“Keep her safe,” he says quietly, and Lydia nods. She’d probably die for Allison, but she would definitely kill for her. Not that she says that. Mr Argent might be giving them weaponry, but he doesn’t want to think she’s anything but the other pretty human girl in the team, who’s smart and good at plans. Allison knows better though; one of the many reasons why Lydia likes her so much.

The girl in question comes clattering down the front steps, loaded down with bags, and her father sighs, stepping away from Lydia.

“You’re going away for two weeks,” he says long-sufferingly. “Do you really need all that?”

Allison looks up at him, absentmindedly brushing a strand of silken hair out of her face. “Sure I do,” she beams at him. “Lydia gave me a list of things to bring!”

Mr Argent turns his disapproving look on her, and she shrugs as charmingly as she knows how. “There’s nothing wrong with being prepared,” she pouts.

He rolls his eyes, but it’s not like he even knows what their bags are full of. He’s just assuming it’s clothes, Lydia can tell. Men!

“Are you ready to go?” Lydia asks Allison, instead of saying something less than kind to her father.

“Sure thing,” she replies, cramming her bags into the car. She doesn’t even comment on the guns. She’s her father’s daughter to the bone.

“Then let’s roll.” Lydia slides her sunglasses down into place. “Places to be, and all that!”

 

By the time they reach the cabin, the sun is starting to drift downwards from its perch on the middle of the sky, and they’ve stopped for snacks about four times. It turns out that being brokenhearted has given Allison quite an appetite.

The cabin is smaller than Lydia remembers, and she’s relieved that she hadn’t invited the whole pack along. It’s plenty large enough for the two of them, though, and it’s clean and peaceful, alone in a quiet clearing. Allison’s smiles are small but plentiful as they crunch across the snow.

 

The first week is spent watching reruns of RuPaul’s Drag Race on Lydia’s laptop, huddled on Lydia’s bed, drinking Allison’s hot chocolate.

(“I’ll make us some cocoa,” Lydia says, the first night in the cabin. They’ve unpacked all the snacks, and various chargers and books and electronics, and Allison is in Lydia’s room poking through the cupboards.

“Alright,” Allison says, just before she tries to pull a box out from a high shelf and overbalances. The contents of the entire shelf come with her as she tumbles to the floor, and she ends up in a pile of old board games and musty blankets.

Lydia can’t stop laughing while she makes the hot chocolate, and  _that_  is the reason why it comes out undrinkable. Allison takes over the cocoa duties after that, and also leaves the worst blanket of the lot - vibrant blue, covered with enormous, poorly-rendered snowflakes - on Lydia’s bed.)

They talk about fashion, and celebrities, and college, and books, and the one videogame that Stiles actually managed to get them all interested in. They never speak about the pack, apart from casual asides of “Oh, Erica loves that movie!” or “Boyd thinks they’re secretly dating, but what does  _he_  know?”. They never speak about Scott.

Allison starts the week as quiet and sad as Lydia has ever seen her. It takes night after night of trashy television and talking until Lydia needs a throat lozenge, but slowly she starts to light up. She becomes more animated, until Lydia feels again like one half of the worst comedy duo in the world. The cabin is peaceful, but full of laughter.

On Christmas, they give each other silly gifts that they smuggled to the cabin in their bags.That night, they find the stash of alcohol in the cellar.

 

“Boys…boys are  _so stupid_ ,” Allison groans, resting her face against Lydia’s shoulder. Her face is warm, and it feels nice against Lydia’s cool skin.

Lydia laughs. “You can say that again!” She says bitterly. “We’re way too good for them. We’re clever, and - “

“Erica was telling me about a girl in our english class,” Allison continues dreamily, like she’s not even listening to Lydia. “She’s a lesbian?”

Lydia’s diatribe against boys is suddenly ashes in her mouth.

“I think that’s great,” Allison says. “I wish  _I_  was a lesbian. No boys! Ever!”

“Would you even want to kiss a girl?” Lydia asks mechanically, her mouth making its own decisions about words.

Suddenly, Allison is listening to her. “I don’t know,” she’s saying. “It’s probably nice. Girls are pretty, and they smell nice. Lydia…”

Allison levers herself up, and meets Lydia’s gaze. “Lydia,” she says again, slowly, like she’s savouring the word. Like it’s a name she wants to say. Lydia tries very hard to get a hold of herself.

“Allison,” she makes herself say back, and even forces a smile. “What?”

“You’re pretty,” Allison says seriously. “And you smell nice, and you’re my best friend, and boys suck. Can I kiss you?”

Lydia is seriously not prepared for this. But she would have to be an idiot to say no. She says so, and then suddenly she has an armful of Allison.

And a mouthful.

For a moment, she’s stunned into inactivity. This is  _so far_  from what she ever planned, ever wanted - and, well, no. That’s kind of a lie, isn’t it.

Allison’s mouth is soft and wet on hers, pliant and willing. Jackson was the perfect boyfriend, except for all those times when he wasn’t, but it was never like this with him. The smell of his hair never made Lydia wet. The feel of his skin under her fingers never made her shiver, and the sounds he made under her mouth never had her thighs clenching in anticipation.

This is like nothing Lydia’s ever felt before.

“Lydia,” Allison breathes, when they pull apart, and it’s perfect,  _she’s_  perfect. Allison is everything Lydia has never admitted to herself that she wants. And now she’s hers.

Lydia trails her fingernail up the curve of Allison’s thigh and watches her shudder. “Yes?” she asks, mouth teasing and hot against Allison’s throat. She thinks she’d like to leave a hickey here…or maybe here, she ponders, leaving a soft kiss at each potential spot. There’s no need to rush, she smiles to herself. They have a whole week.

“Oh god,” Allison moans, as Lydia’s fingers find their way under her skirt. “Lydia, god.”

“Tell me,” Lydia instructs, pushing Allison down against the bed. She goes with her, and they lie together on top of the stupid snowflake blanket, kissing for a long, mind-meltingly perfect moment. “Tell me what you want.”

“Everything.”

 

Lydia thinks this is it. She’s basically ready to denounce boys forever and lesbian-marry Allison, if Allison is okay with that. This cabin idea was the best idea she’s ever had,  _bar none_.

But in the morning, the other side of the bed is cold. When Lydia gets up, the kitchen is empty, but the kettle is hot, and there’s a cup on the table, half full of rapidly cooling tea. The clearing is empty.

A knot of anxiety and fear and worry, everything she thought she’d left behind when she drove out of Beacon Hills, begins to form in the pit of her stomach.

When she checks the rest of the house, and finds Allison tucked up in her own bed with a book and her headphones on, it unravels. Mostly.

The thing is, since Allison moved to Beacon Hills, apart from that time they don’t talk about when nobody would tell Lydia  _anything_ , they’ve been close. Allison tells her everything. They stay up late in Lydia’s room, eating popcorn and gossiping and watching really terrible movies. Lydia’s unused to a day free from Allison’s laughter, and her smiles, and her presence.

And she doesn’t like it.

Whenever they’re in the same room together, Allison is perfectly friendly. But she spends most of her time in her room. Allison smiles at her, but they don’t cuddle in front of her laptop watching old episodes of ANTM. Allison is fine, but distant.

She never brings up the night they slept together.

Lydia feels, well, a little rejected. Obviously Allison thinks it was a mistake, but couldn’t she just…pretend it never happened? Couldn’t they go back to the way they’d been before? She feels hurt, and when Lydia feels hurt, she gets defensive. So she begins to find reasons to not be in the same room as Allison, and as they reach the end of their Perfect Holiday, they go days without seeing each other.

 

The night before they’re supposed to leave, there’s a snowstorm. Snow pelts the roof, and Lydia spends half the night awake in bed, frozen hands curled around a mug of poorly made hot chocolate. She watches an episode of toddlers and tiaras on her laptop, but it’s not the same when she can’t keep up a running commentary with Allison.

She wonders if Allison is awake too. She wishes she’d never had this stupid plan. Most of all, she wonders when this ache in her heart will fade.

 

In the morning, the door doesn’t open.

Allison and Lydia stare at each other for a long moment, Lydia’s hand motionless on the doorknob. 

“It’s locked,” Lydia says, inanely.

Allison spares her any mockery, going straight for the window. It’s completely white outside.

“We’re snowed in,” she says tonelessly. “Looks like we’re not leaving today!”

Lydia bites her lip, reluctant to admit to even herself how much Allison’s clear reluctance to stay one more minute with Lydia hurts. Allison’s eyes track the movement.

“I’ll call my dad,” she says suddenly, after a long silence. “Maybe he can come get us?”

“Good idea,” Lydia offers up lamely. She’s sluggish and off her game this morning, after a night of self-pity and cold, shitty cocoa. She wants to be the one with good ideas. She wants to rescue Allison. Instead, she’s standing awkwardly next to the door, still holding one of her bags.

She puts it down on the floor, and very carefully avoids staring pathetically at Allison. She’s not that girl. She  _refuses_  to be that girl. Lydia gathers up the last strands of her dignity, and weaves them into a cloak of self-possession. She can do this. She’s Lydia  _fucking_  Martin, she can do anything. Just because her best friend clearly regrets having sex with her doesn’t mean that she’s not still the most amazing person around. She just has to make herself believe that.

“I’ll make us some hot chocolate,” she says firmly, as Allison rummages in her bags for her phone.

Allison laughs. “Um,” she says into her bag, “I’m pretty sure we already covered that you kinda suck at making it. Sorry!” She doesn’t sound sorry, but it’s the warm mockery of a best friend, not the frozen cordiality of the last week. It’s something.

“Fine!” Lydia huffs, over-dramatic. “ _You_  make the hot chocolate, and I’ll call your dad.”

Allison frowns at her. “Do you have his number?”

“I was just planning on calling your home number,” Lydia admits. “Does he even have a mobile?”

“He’s not  _that_  old,” Allison retorts, sticking out her tongue, and for a moment it’s like nothing has changed.

And then something flickers in Allison’s eyes, as she obviously remembers that she can’t be friends with Lydia any more. Lydia can read her like a fucking  _book_. 

Silence falls like an anvil, and Allison drifts awkwardly into the kitchen. She should have just gone on holiday with her parents, Lydia reflects, furious at herself. She should have invited the whole fucking pack. She shouldn’t have been so  _stupid_.

She calls Mr Argent, almost just for something to do. At least he’ll talk to her.

And talk to her he does, although he’s clearly unimpressed with the fact that they need to be rescued.

“Maybe next year you girls can camp in the backyard,” he says carelessly, and she gapes at the phone, too furious for words. He laughs, tells her he’ll be there as soon as he can, and hangs up.

Lydia stares at her phone for a moment. What if this is it? What if she’s never going to go over to Allison’s again? No more friend dates, or chatting to Mr Argent. No more Allison?

When Allison emerges from the kitchen, clutching two steaming mugs of deliciousness, Lydia’s wiping her eye. It’s nothing. There’s something in there, probably a bug or something.

Allison stops, idles in the doorway. Looks at Lydia. 

Lydia looks up at her, furious at being seen like this. “What?” she snaps.

Allison looks down. “Nothing,” she says, holding a mug out like a peace offering. “Did you call dad?”

“Yeah,” Lydia says. Clears her throat and tries again. “Yes, I called him. He said he’d be here soon, but I remember how long it took us to get here. We’ll probably be stuck here all day.”

“Oh,” Allison says softly, and it takes everything Lydia has not to flinch. She lets out a short laugh, and maybe it’s a little more brittle than she meant it to be, because Allison raises her enormous eyes and gives her a questioning look. Like  _she’s_  the one who’s exhibiting questionable behaviour. Lydia’s so mad she could spit.

And she’s so scared that Allison’s going to leave her that she could cry.

There’s an awkward pause, and just as Lydia’s almost sure that Allison’s about to go hide in her room, Lydia manages to force herself to speak.

“Let’s watch something,” she grits out into the silence. “Like, I don’t know, something stupid. Whatever you want.” It’s with an inhuman force of effort that she stops herself babbling further. It’s official, she’s turning into an idiot.

Allison smiles at her, though, and they drag Lydia’s laptop to the couch.

Usually, Lydia picks out what they’re going to watch, but since she’s already said Allison could choose, she just sits back with her cocoa. Just leans back against the cushions and relishes the feeling of being this close to another person. It’s been kind of a lonely few days.

And that’s when she realises what folder Allison has just opened.

Allison turns and gives Lydia an amused grin. “Porn? Really?”

Lydia sighs, and Allison just laughs. “Who even downloads porn these days, Lyds? It’s all online, you know. Did you buy this?”

And now Lydia is absolutely thinking about Allison watching porn, which she refuses to do. “Some porn is worth purchasing,” she says primly, just to see Allison laugh again. 

“Alright,” she says consideringly, “let’s see what kind of porn Miss Martin thinks is worth her money.” 

Sometimes Lydia wishes she could bite her tongue. Because it’s lesbian porn, this folder is all soft, sweet, lesbian porn, and she doesn’t want to watch that with the girl she’s only just realised that she’s falling for.

Allison hmms over a few titles, before double clicking one. It opens on a blonde girl sitting on her bed, brushing her hair. Soft music plays in the background.

“No offense, but this is kind of dull,” Allison says, and Lydia tuts.

“Sorry it’s not the typical ‘from introductions to orgasms in five minutes’ crap you find on redtube,” she snarks, and Allison laughs again.

She stops short as the girl’s female housemate walks into the shot and sits down next to the blonde girl. They talk softly - too softly, but Allison’s too frozen to change the laptop’s volume - for a moment, and then start kissing.

Allison turns to look at Lydia, and Lydia is sure she’s blushing. Behind Allison, the blonde has started to moan.

“This -” Allison starts. “You asked if I’d even want to kiss a girl! I thought you’d never even  _thought_  about this kind of thing!”

“ _Everyone’s_  thought about this kind of thing, Allison!” Lydia snaps. “And, what, you just thought I was good at it through  _natural talent_?”

“Well you’re  _naturally talented_  at everything else!” Allison retorts, flushing dully.

Lydia almost can’t believe that the first time they’re actually talking about this is  _during an argument_ , but you know what? She’ll take it.

“What is -” she starts.

“What is your  _problem_?” Allison beats her to it. “First you’re not interested in girls -”

“I never -”

“And  _then_  you have  _sex_  with me?”

“We were -”

“And then you never  _say_  anything, and the whole time you’re watching -”

“Allison!”

Allison jumps in her seat, and scowls at Lydia. “What?”

“ _I_  never said anything? You were the one who ignored  _me_!”

Allison’s scowl falters. “I was -”

There’s a pause, where Allison’s blush deepens.

Lydia raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“You don’t like girls,” Allison says quietly. “I was -  _it_  was just a drunk thing. A holiday thing. An experiment.”

“You weren’t,” Lydia says instantly, heart in her throat. “You weren’t an experiment, Allison, you  _weren’t_.”

Allison stares flatly at the couch between them, and Lydia is almost sure she’s imagining the shine in her eyes.

In the silence, the blonde girl in the porn moans loudly, and Lydia cringes. Allison reaches over and turns it off.

“We’re friends,” she says.

“Best friends,” Lydia agrees. She’s not exactly sure where Allison is going with this, but there’s something tense in her gut hoping that it’s somewhere good. She inches slightly closer to Allison, who doesn’t seem to notice.

Allison looks up at Lydia, and meets her gaze. Takes her breath away.

“Is that all we are?” She asks softly, and there’s something fragile and tender in her eyes. Lydia wants to believe that it’s hope.

She leans forward, like a flower drawn inexorably to the sun, and Allison reaches out to meet her.

 

Mr Argent arrives eventually, as the light peeking in above the snowline starts to dim, and as the daylight fades, he and his hunter posse dig a path to the door. When Lydia and Allison leave the cabin, dragging piles of luggage, Allison’s wearing one of Lydia’s scarves to hide a hickey that Lydia couldn’t bear not to leave.

They stay an appropriate distance from each other as they take their bags to the car and lock the cabin. But once they climb in Mr Argent’s back seat - Lydia’s car is buried, but they’ll come back for it, he says - they sit closer than strictly neccessary.

And as they start the long drive back to Beacon Hills, Lydia feels Allison’s hand slide over her own and squeeze gently. They might be going back to their broken pack, back to hurt feelings and stupid werewolves, but at least they’re going back together.


End file.
